Sunday, May 31, 2009


My brother is a recovering alcoholic; he regularly attends AA meetings. Tonight, he asked me to join him. We were seeing a movie afterwards, so the logistics would have went much more smoothly if I went with him. The meetings follow a standard format. The beginnins usually cover annoucements, going over AA literature and celebrating people's sobriety. The last, and pretty much the bulk of the meeting, is a time where people share their stories of how alcoholism affected their lives, and why they are here today. Alcoholics Anoymous. I won't go into any specific details of their speeches, or experiences, because the anoymonity, but I will mention the emotion behind the speeches and how, in a way, I felt connected to these people.

Alcholism runs deep in my family, both on my mother's and father's side; it is in my blood to be an alcholic. During my younger years, between 14-17, I was running full tilt towards this life. I was drinking heavily on the weekends, and the alcohol was all I can remember looking forward to. Which, when I reflect on my life today, is strange because I don't believe that I truly look forward to anything tomorrow or in the future now. My brother fell first, and hit hard. He became an alcoholic almost overnight. At least, that is the way it felt. I was pretty much entirely numb during these years. The alcohol for me was an escape, from my dreary life, from my depression, from the problems that I faced at home. My mother was next to follow. She was an alcoholic for quite some time. I just believe we never realy recognized it till my brother became sober and shone attention upon her drinking habit. My brother and mother went away for treatment, not together. My mom was gone for 2 months, I believe? My brother was gone for close to 5. In a way, I used to believe that I was an alcoholic, I just didn't drink. When I did drink during the school year, I felt it just made me more depressed. Hence the belief now that I am not an alcoholic. I'm just severely depressed.

The people spoke about feelings and emotions that I knew so well. The words triggered chain reactions. Its as if I did not even need to think about the words. My brain just knew them and felt them. They seemed all so common to me. I looked around the room and I realized all these people felt like me in some way. Inferior, out of place, wanting to just seem normal and to them alcohol was the key. My brother even expressed the same feelings to me, the very same things that I feel, but, yet, I still feel so alone. I still feel so alienated. They spoke about their suicidial ideation and I wanted to cry because I knew it so well. I know what it is like to wake up everyday and wish you were dead, to wish you were no longer breathing, and to go to sleep the night before wishing you won't wake up. I know it all. I know it so well. I wanted to cry at that point, but refused to do so, like I always do. I'm too proud to cry, or to accept help, to admit that I have a problem that will probably kill me well before my time. This is all I know. This is my life as I live it, depression through and through out. No one will truly understand my feelings, ever. They are far too imperceivable. This idea is probably at the root of my isolation.

I hate my life, but I hate the person I am more than anything. My life is a result of the person I am. The choices I made in the past will produce the person I am today, and tomorrow. I want things to be okay, but I'm scared that I won't even know what it feels like for things to be okay because it has been so long since I have felt hope, happiness or anything that could be said to be a positive emotion. What further compounds this problem is the fact I know I will never ever be happy with anything in my life. The possessions I've wanted, the accomplishments I've achieved mean nothing. They are nothing to relish pride from. They simply mean nothing to me, which makes me question the point of living, waking up to tomorrow, if there is no resultant happiness from any of my actions. Life just drags. It creates this numb sensation that nothing truly matters, because it clearly doesn't. Nothing will ever be okay, because nothing has ever been okay.

I examine my will for life, why I am still here today and I realize it is for only one reason that I have not perished, my parents. I do not live for the possibilties of tomorrow, but to ensure my parents face no pain. They are great people; I love them dearly. They have provided me with great opportunities, many I can not seem to find the desire to appreciate, and they have always been there for me, but I face this alone. They know little of my depression or the want I battle with on a daily basis to end this all. I want to open up. I want to break down. I want to cry. I want to tell them everything, but I can't. I just can't. I've tried so many times, but stall, and stall again. I fail, yet again. The story of my life. I just want this to end. I want it all to stop.

Friday, May 22, 2009


I ask my self this question almost everyday.

Why am I alive?
Why did I wake up today?
Why do things seem so useless?
Why do I feel worthless?
Why do I hate my face?
Why do I hate my ears?
Why do I hate my hands?
Why do I hate everything about my self?
Why am I going to university when I don't even have the desire to get out of bed?
Why do the things I used to love doing now provide me with no emotional sastifaction?
Why am I depressed?
Why do I contenplate suicide on a daily basis, and frequently throughout the day?
Why do other people seem so happy?
Why do others take happiness in things I can not?
Why do I picture my body hanging, cold and dead, from a rope?
Why does the pain seem infinite?
Why is there no light at the end of this tunnel?
Why does death seem like the only way for this to end?
Why do I feel unhappy living a life that others wouldn't?
Why do materalistic goods not provide me with happiness?
Why does everyone and everything annoy me so much?
Why do I want to cut my self?
Why do I have to randomly pull my car over and cry?
Why do I feel anger that can only seemed to be expressed through physical violence?
Why am I constantly reminded of my painful past?
Why can't I get over things in the past?
Why do the memories that drag me down resurface everyday?
Why do I hate my life so much?
Why do I hate who I am so much?
Why do I feel so alone, so alienated?
Why do I choose to continue living?
Why am I different?
Why couldn't I just have been normal?
Why is the thought of my death comforting?
Why me

The Pull

We’re just belief machines, program however you like,

record the right programs, and just repeat, except I can’t, because I must compete,

be better than the last minute, my record will never be kept skipping,

I’m playing right through to the end, straight to oblivion,

got pain that remains through ibprovin, proof I need the token,

cannabis is the state trigger I’m holding, pull it so I can avoid the grim reaper,

death’s door constantly lingers, so I reorganize my mind to think thicker,

and smoke bongs like a ninja loves smoke bombs, until the past is far gone,

then the artic man might finally thaw, if springtime can green shoot him off,

a bright future starts with a fresh plot, a new tune and an old cough

And I don’t have the answers, or know if this will work,

I just trust in my heart and continue to exist

Monday, May 18, 2009


Due to my idiocy, I left my blog open last night before I went to sleep. Being gone most of the day, accomplishing tasks which others would deem as productive, but to me feels useless. After waking up, I went to the gym. I then spent four hours cleaning my car, and just the exterior of it. Because of me being busy pretty much the whole day, my family did not have a chance to talk to me. When I was finally finished this mindless tasks, I came home to relax. My father approached me sometime after. He said he read my blog. I'm uncertain as to how much he read. A good guess would be only the last post. Embarrassment rushed over me. My privacy began to feel violated. These are my thoughts, thoughts I don't really want anyone to know. Well, it does not make much sense that my blog is public, but it ultimately boils down to my fear of judgment from my father. I'm afraid to disappoint him. If he read the rest of the blog, including the posts about my depression and suicide ideation, it would have severley hurt him. My depression should be out in the open. It shouldnt be hidden.

My father said that there is no shame in taking pride in materalistic things because, in a sense, it is what drives us. He stated that if we did not want anything, we wouldn't do anything. Its logical to me. It creates an image that life is one stepping stone to the next, each representing a goal, or a desire, to be fufilled. The equation is constant struggle equals constant happiness. What happens if you dont achieve your goals? You slip. You fall. You get wet. Getting up on that next stone is even more difficult, harder to find the motivation and desire. My life feels like the majority of the stones have been lost, sunken. I wonder what point I have reached. My desire and drive to do productive things is absent. The stones are lost. When I look around all I can see is the vast ocean in which there is no direction to follow. I'm lost.

I have no idea about my future. I have no idea what I want, or what I should do. I don't know why I wake up in the morning. I don't know what I look forward to. I don't know what makes living my life worthwhile. I'm without direction, without aim. The only thing that is known, that is with purpose, is the suffering that I feel.

Sunday, May 17, 2009


Lately, I have realized just how superficial of a person I am and I hate it. I hate how my drive for certain things come from the notion of looking better than another person. My goal of becoming a physician, which isnt fueled entirely by a superficial cause, but it does boil down to the fact that I want to be respected, and be seen as a professional. The fingers of this troubling way of thought reaches into other areas of my life.

Business for my father could not be better. I'm truly happy for him. It is nice to see my father begin to be visually happy again. Some time ago, he always said he was, but never acted in that fashion. Recently, his behavior shows this trend of happiness more and more. Like I said, I'm truly happy for him and it is comforting to know that there will be more money in the bank. The conclusive thought I reach is simply this, how will I benefit from it? Will I get a better car? Will I buy more expensive clothes? Will life be better because of a bigger income, one I had no part in earning. It makes me feel so spolied and so undeserving. I truly love my parents. I truly appreciate them for every opportunity they have given me, which have been more than enough. It frustrates me to know that my way of thinking is this. Me. Me. Me. My life is better because of my father, because of his generosity. It helps my life to be easier, and become increasingly easier as his good will grows and grows.

My dad, and brother, own a car for their business. It is a Mercedes E350 4Matic, made in 2007. It is a truly beautiful car. My dad today, on the way to the mall, mentioned that in three years the car would be paid off. He then asked if I would like to have it when the financing was done. I couldn't tell if he was kidding around, probably so, but, even the idea of it, made me happy. A smile appeared on my face as I imagined driving it, showing it off to my friends, taking dates out in it. All this emotion, from a piece of steele.

It is a difficult line to draw. Are you suppose to take pleasure in materalistic things, if so how much? When does it become that your total happiness relies on materialism, and when does it occur that you take no emotion from the things you own and have bought? Is it wrong to take such pleasure from an item like this? I always believed emotions should be derived from more substanial things. Like gathering happiness from accomplishing your goals, finding another person to be happy with. Who knows. I am just rambling on now

Friday, May 15, 2009

Almost Science - TIFOD

Tifod is a new term to coin the acronym of "the impending feeling of doom".

This term is a that nagging feeling of discomfort; normally accompanied by paranoia and worse if one does not have a ritual pattern to induce calmness accessible. It can also be a feeling of being overwhelmed by the implications of the scenarios in one's head; when the critic inside paints his dystopia. Even when its obviously just nonsense, the effect is mood altering. The loss of control is an uncomfortable reminder that requires will power to overcome. Eventually Tifod can wear one out as it is like a leviathan that keeps trying to consume more of the mind's resources.

Also a squirrel once told me that the root of the word comes from typhoid fever, but I quickly reminded him that he was just being an oppourtunist with rhetoric.

In a deeper sense though, one would be off beat with the average worldview because Tifod acts as a weight creating density in consciousness that obscures the truth. It can literally act as a black hole and distort in the light sucking everything into it.

The squirrel continued: if your thoughts were on a scale from concrete to abstract, with concrete thoughts represented by the planet earth and abstract ones by outer space, Depression would be when you were thinking somewhere out in space - exploring. And before you know it you're not grounded in the concrete, but the abstract - maybe you were not satisfied with the status quo and liked to dream. Being out there in the abstract, sometimes navigation can be hard and you get into a rut, before you know it the ebb and flow of the universe has you being pulled around by gravity! Do that long enough and you might just find that Tifod describes that point of Depression which would be when you find yourself hurling towards a black hole and watching your escape window get further away as you approach the event horizon.

So I busted a nut and gave it to him because food is life.

In the end, Tifod is a bitch.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

A Slow Drip

"Over time, repeated stressful experiences can literally, not just figuratively, alter the nervous systems of the temperamentally vulnerable. Animal research has shown that when a rat is given a small shock, it shows no marked reaction; when exposed to such stressors for five consecutive days, it shows signs of the stress response; when exposed for seven or eight days, the rat has a seizure, and thereafter this "kindled" animal will seize with little or no provocation. Experiments of this kind are of course not done with people, but Philip Gold and other neuroscientists now think that in human beings, too, by triggering a cascade of chemical reactions, serious chronic stress, particularly in early life, causes changes in the way genes within a brain cell function, permanently altering the neuron's biology. Because they require a particular type of input to turn on or off, only some of a neuron's thousands of genes, each of which is involved in some aspect of cellular structure or communication, are activated at any given moment. When a temperamentally vulnerable person is constantly bombarded with upsetting stimuli, Gold says, the genes that get turned on are those involved in the cellular components of the stress response. Over time the person's nervous system is configured accordingly, becoming a kind of two-way radio that specializes in receiving and transmitting unhappy signals. The concluding chapters in what Gold calls "the natural history of an affective disorder" chronicle the repeated struggles of such people with anxiety or what some call its chronic form, depression"

From the article:


Why do so many bad outcomes, emotions and events start with the letter D?

Doubt fills me. The best example I can use is that of a pool. When I first began my life, I was optimistic, cheerful, and excitable to the external enviornment. Then as I aged, doubt became existant in my life. I first entered the shallow end of a pool; the water was up to my knees. It never was an issue. It was always manageable, delt with by whatever coping resources I have. As the disease progresses, as I become more and more depressed, I slinked further into the pool, further to the deep end. Before I know it, the water is over my head. I'm drowning. I'm drowning in this doubt. Like water in my lungs, it incapacitates me. It renders me useless. The desire to do anything is absent, fueled by this undying doubt.

Since I can remember, I have wanted to be a physician. It is what I envision my future career to be. I don't believe I have the capacity to become one. Throughout elementary and high school, I was labeled as an idiot, a person who is unfit for higher post secondary education. The notion that I would become a professional by any one of my teachers was laughable to them. This image is branded deep into me. I'm still stupid. I'm still an idiot. I'll never be able to become a doctor. I'm simply not intelligent enough. In the last two years of my life, I discovered that becoming a physician isn't a whim; its a career that I KNOW is for me, and would be fitting to my personality. The future interview can be played in my head so readily. "Well, ****** why do you want to become a doctor?" My response would probably be "Suffering from bipolar, and being a manic depressive, I found the symptoms were alleivated and I felt truly happy when I was helping others, and making a noticable difference in their lives". It is the only reason I want to be one. It helps me to earn that piece of happiness I'm so starved for.

The last two years of my life was spent at a college, studying to become a paramedic. I normally scored above average on tests, scenarios and exams. People who supervised me during my practicum noted me to be intelligent, competent, caring and having great potential. A lot of other people did not receive such great praise. One of the professors took a liking to me. He had a very high opinion of me. He stated that I was intelligent, competent and had great potential. Why am I mentioning this? It doesn't mean ANYTHING to me. I took no value from this, or emotional gratitude. It was valueless. Others would have took great pride in this, but I couldn't. Why did people tell me this? Maybe they were lying. Maybe the people just felt sorry for me. Maybe it was pity. It's doubt. Theres proof that I'm intelligent, to the point of having the ability to be a doctor, which would battle the life long belief that I'm simply 'not smart enough', but the proof is defeated. It means nothing. The belief that I'm stupid stands strong, and seems impenetrable.

The outcome of this goal, I can see ending in two different ways. One, I do gain acceptance to a medical school and I do become a doctor, but, like everything else in my life that I've accomplished, it will mean nothing to me. I will not be able to take pride or happiness in those letters behind my name, and the ability to practice medicine. That, or I will not get in. Either way I'll still be unhappy and lack any pride whatsoever.

Doubt is everywhere else in my life, but I'm tired of writing. I hate knowing how messed up I am. The writing is just a reiteration of it. It does help to get my thoughts, ideas, and emotions out, though.

I would like to welcome Silver to Isolation. He will be a contributing author.

This blog is now public.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009


A lot of the days I slug through in, what seems to be, my meaningless life, I welcome death. Wanting to die, and contenplating death well before one's time, is, by society's standards, needless.

Your days on this earth are numbered; they should be cherished. People know this, and people practice this idea by avoiding activities, like smoking, that causes illness, that causes a decrease in your life span. They wake up happy. They look forward to the opportunities the new day brings them and they function at a normal level. They welcome another day in their lives.

This all makes sense if you enjoy your life, like the majority of people do, but I don't. Society can not understand this because it is not the norm. How can you not enjoy life? I'm not sure. I think I may be wired incorrectly. Like, some people were programmed just to see the good in all situations but I seem to be the opposite. My life is dragged down with negativity created by own poor self esteem and self consciousness. The string that pull my life down, and down, seem to be tethered with past memories that only contribute to my negativity. I wake up expecting nothing positive will happen, and it is reinforced by my own self made negativity. It may stem from my self image, that I perceive to be nothing worthwhile, that crates this feeling that I don't deserve to be happy. I don't deserve to have the things I desire. I don't deserve to be happy.

So, I welcome death. The thought that my suffering one day will end is comforting. Of course, I would rather the day be sooner than later, which leads to contenplating the act of suicide. Knowing that I can stop all this pain, and make all this go away in a moment's time, makes me actually look forward to something. Your once formed preconceived notions of death come crashing down because all that matters are your emotions. Suddenly the word death does not embody fear, it creates a peace that spreads across you like wind on a flat plane. It is sad to say, that I actively look forward to my death, whatever way it comes.

Those who say it is a selfish act know nothing of the suffering. The majority of the people who dispense this idea have never been depressed. It is an unfair and uninformed statement. No one wants to feel bad. The death of a person, obviously, creates emotional insult and these people do not want to deal with it. They are scared of dealing with the outcomes that are associated with a death. They simply do not want to deal with the emotions that are produced. I think it is absurd to have a person ask you to slug through a life you hate, a life you despise, just so they can wake up the next morning and not have anything to feel bad about, just so things can be perfectly fine for them. Things have never ever been fine for me. Things have never even been even okay. If I want to exercise an option to stop the life I hate so much, I should be able to do so freely and without judgment from those who know nothing of my despair.

I simply do not feel like writing anymore tonight.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Death’s Door


One more step


One more step


One more step


One more step


One more step


One more step


One more step


One more step


One more step


One more step

Friday, May 8, 2009


I wish my life was different; I wish I was a different person. My emotions are so volatile and rapidly shift from depression to happiness in mere minutes. Today, for 90 minutes, I believed ******* had cancelled on me. My senses could only focus on the resulting emotions from this prediction. Some time after, when these fears were shot down, I returned to my normal functioning state.

Later in the day, I met her. I am not too sure how it went. They were no extended awkward silences. I was pretty funny. She expressed this by laughing quite frequently. I had an okay time. She did drone on somewhat, though. When she left, she gave me a hug and mentioned she enjoyed the time we spent together. Smiling, ******* also said we should spend more time together in the near future. I left feeling unfufilled. The words didn't seem to hold any truth to me. I feel I performed terribly. Your own worst critic is your self, and this rings wholly true for me in this situation. All I can dwell on are the negatives. My attitude towards the situation is purely indolent. I hoped she would have texted me, but she hasn't. If she was interested, I imagined she would. These logical statements can be misleading, and downright harming to myself and whatever attempt at a relationship we have exists. The uncertainty is frustrating. I can not truly decide whether or not I will call her again. Simply because of the fact, that I am afraid of facing rejection. It wouldn't have been so bad if it was before our meeting had occurred, but afterwards when we meet it feels like she really does know more of me, and shes rejecting more of me as a person, not an imagined face behind a computer screen or telephone receiver.

Driving home alone made me wish we were spending more time together. I played imaginative scenarios of how the night would have unfolded. I wanted to kiss her; she is really cute. I wanted to tell her this. I wanted to text her as I was driving and tell her I had a good time and I thought she was really cute, but I felt too vulnerable even thinking about it. It's just a game isn't it. It all derives from my emotional instability. I should feel confident. I should assume she is interested. I shouldn't be thinking such romantic notions after the first date. It seems silly to say such affectionate things to a girl I hardly know. Even writing this shows that I'm quite uncertain. It is frustrating. Acting rather than thinking is so difficult for me. People tell me I should just push forward and do what I want. I'm far too critical. I'm far too conscious of my behavior. It just means I'm too worried about what she might think. I'm weak. I'm insecure. I'm unstable.

Thursday, May 7, 2009


This summer marks many changes in my life that are monumental. The paramedic program I have been enrolled in for the last two years has been completed. My brother is getting married. What university I will be attending to embark on my journey to become a physician will also be decided very shortly. These things seem like they should mean something. I know they would be significant to others, but, to me, they are not. All these decisions are just one big inconvenience after the next. One of the most difficult choices is whether or not I should attend my brother's wedding. There has been a mixed history between us. Days have gone by where we are quite fond of each other, but more of them pass that drives us apart. He frustrates me to an extent I can not clearly write. My decision to attend university, after going to college for two years to become a paramedic, is viewed quite critically by him. It was a waste; I learned nothing. This is not my brother's concern of utmost important, though. It is the fact that I drained my father for so much money during the experience that really irks him. Looking past it, I can see it is my brother's selfishness being portrayed by his words. A greater reservoir of money means a larger financial well for him to dig from. The depression could be ruling me when I say this, but I could care less about his wedding. I, like my family, have strong apprehensions towards his fiancee. We all feel she is superficial. It's not my decision to make. It's his life. And as much as he loves telling me how to live mine, I won't perform the same injustice towards him.

This, my decision, will no doubt hurt him. I will be the truly selfish one then, won't I? Life should be having true freedome in your choices, not making ones to please others. All this shit about people saying this line of thought is wrong because we all have to perform tasks we do not enjoy. It's shit. People, for the most part, say this about their job. Find a job you LIKE. Find a job you WANT to do. It is selfish for people to expect you to slug your way through something you have no desire to do so just so these people can spare themselves the emotional insult. The thought of the result this will inflict towards my brother should cause second thoughts, but it does not. I hurt people emotionally, quite a bit, especially women who I don't have respect for. They put themselves in such a position by sleeping with me so readily with the aim that it will please me and I'll think of them with a much higher status. It's not true. You're just a slut to me, like so many others. You desereve to be reformed of your ways. My brother has put himself into this position, as well, by treating me poorly for my entire life. I simply have a hard time respecting him lately.

I guess I'm just a hateful and hurtful person.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009


Why are some decisions so difficult to decide? Why am I so hesitant to 'pull the trigger'. It is likely because I am insecure, and far, far too, afraid of making a decision. The thought process boils down to an image of me facing probing questions, having to defend my self, and being unable to do so. The result is me appearing as an idiot. Making a mistake, means I'm human, means I'm weak. Why is that such a difficult notion to fathom. I used to pride my self on being different; it is likely because of the depression that has warped my mind. The feelings are a backhanded compliment, really. It is enjoyable to know that you are not similar to others, but, at the same time, it is difficult to realize you do not have much commonground with people, making it incredibly difficult to associate with people who don't adhere to a non main stream culture of thought. It should be easier, but its not; its the resulant cause of depression.

I find regrets incredibly difficult to face. They just seem to further increase this stereotype of my self that I have of me being a complete idiot, that I'm lacking all remote intelligence. If I was smarter, I would not be having this regret. Battling through this thought, with the idea that all regrettable things have consequences to learn from, does not always soothe such frustrations. I'm still mired by decisions, whether or not I choose to accept that, even if it does fail, I will learn something either way. Learning each and everyday is, what I believe, to be the purpose of life.

Lately, all I've wanted to do was get laid. It has been killing me. The last time it wasn't all that great. The best part was getting to demean her, but it was meaningless. I didn't appreciate it as much as I should have, or as much as other people lead on they do. It just felt bland, really. *******, is the name of a girl I began talking to off the internet. It has progressed to the point of us having plans to meet on friday. Before this, though, I called her so I could get a better image of the person she is. The phone call ended in disappointment. She was self centered and self absorbed. My words would have been better appreciated by a deaf person. Leading sentences I dropped, for her to pry more questions from me, failed. The bait was left untouched. Against my judgment, I asked her out for friday just to try and get some. Pretty terrible, I know. She is interested in me. Its literally been an enternity since I can remember a girl being legitimately interested in me. Maybe I'm just being too picky. Am i? heh

Tuesday, May 5, 2009


Life is full of them, isn't it? It ties in with my last post of hope. Disappointment is the result of failed hope. I'm not sure why so many people believe optimism is the key to life. It is a sentence to be continually disappointed. That makes me a skeptic, and to, an extent, a nihilist because, for the most part, the only cauastive factor is another person. I'm a realist. People have just hurt me, and continue to do so. History repeats it self.

In one of my last posts, I spoke about defining your life through your choices. It is my choice to be a skeptic, and a nihilist because I want to control the outcomes in life. I do not want to leave it to 'chance'. The decision has already been concluded. There is no middle ground for me. Things do not hang in the air for me, ever. I try, and I try my best, to sculpt my life the way I want it, but, at times, it is disheartening to realize how poor humanity's behavior really is as negative results are commonly assumed.

My recent behavior in deflecting negativity and disappointment can likely explain my social detatchment from my friends and females, each represents raveled irritation and pain. It should come easier, but it doesnt; the exercise is so exhausting, and draining. It might mean it's not healthy. It might mean that it's just hard to assume the worst of people. It goes against all teachings, beliefs. Is it worth it? To assume the worst of people? I wonder if the saying expect the worst, receive the worst has any merit. I wonder if doing so will prevent me from being happy. Well, its a state of mind I've practiced for a while now. I can't tell what the depression stemed from. Is it idiopathic? Is it caused by this mindset of assuming happiness related to people does not exist?

Monday, May 4, 2009


I wonder what hope really means. It is a word I throw around far too loosely. Everyone hopes for better things. Everyone wants a better and more rewarding tomorrow, and, all of us, we hope for one. My definition for hope is to believe that a positive course of action will occur in the future, one that will benefit you emotionally or in any other means. Like I said, people hope for betterment of their lives. In a way, the word, hope, is simply a prediction. People are forecasting the future and imagining the results of it are in their favour. To me, that is what hope is. It may sound silly to analyze a word so critically, but let me be more precise.

I believe the life a person lives is the result of who that person is. Basically, you make your own life. You decided your decisions and you do the things you want to. Your life is a blank slate, and you, the artist, are simply creating vividness to this moldable object. This is why I try my best to not be foolish and speak errenous words such as "I hate my life" because, the truth is, I do not hate my life. I hate my self. The word hope, to me, represents laziness to a degree. I'm talking about hope in the literal sense, not the "I hope the red light is green before I get to it". I mean "I hope I feel better tomorrow". These are things I say to my self during episodes of manic depression. I would like to believe that other people say comforting things as well, but you're uncertain. If you are my age, you are even uncertain of how many people that you know are actually depressed, further creating this sense of isolation. I believe you have the power to shape your life, and your emotional well being, to an extent. When people say the word in such terms as these, it just seems like a cop out. It seems like an excuse. It just a passive form of change and self improvement. Guilt falls upon me. I have said the same exact things, and I still do. Perhaps I'm not lazy, maybe I'm just comfortable in the world I know. Sometimes you want to get help, but, sometimes, you just feel that you are too far gone. You are beyond the grasps of help and intervention. Days pass by as I think in my head today will be the day I'll book a doctors appointment and receive help. Then you wonder what your life will be when you reach the bright light at the end of the tunnel, and you eventually learn the fact that you won't be able to see anything once you reach that point.

Sunday, May 3, 2009


Hate is a powerful concept. It is, without a doubt, one of the anchors in depression and furthering it. When I remember being younger, and being depressed, hate was never overwhelming. Now, the emotional weathering is entirely different. I am encompassed by hate. You don't feel hate for others. You don't feel hate for the things around you. You feel nothing but hatred for your self. It is unavoidable.

No one enjoys being depressed. After a while, being depressed is all a person comes to know and it becomes a part of you. Your personality is integrated with depression. Seeing a life without it is incredibly difficult. It is all you know. You imagine your life changing, but you can't see the tangible effects. You can't imagine how your life would be with out depression. It's hard to admit that depression is this stripping, but means this much in your life. It technically makes the person you are because it shapes your desires and goals. I currently have no desire to do anything whatsoever. 

I visited a friend today and he asked me a challenging question. How do you see your life without depression? I could not answer; I was at a true loss for words. I can't see my life without this disease, this robbing force. The feeling is comforting in a way because its predictable. You know, regardless of whatever happens, it will always be there. It's something you can expect. Stability and predictability are things human rely on to feel grounded. Believing that you could actually be stabilized in some aspects is difficult to comprehend. It is something that could only actually be understood by someone who has faced the disease. 

My life should be good, by conventional standards. I'm intelligent. I'm respected by my peers. I'm well educated. The result is two diplomas. I have been accepted to a number of universities. I will ultimately pick one and begin the journey of becoming a doctor. I have a car. My family is not poor. These are things that make my self expect to be happy. It doesn't though because all I can truly dwell on are the negatives. It seems that what all of society does as well. Maybe they are just better at dealing with their short comings, or maybe they just don't let themselves be affected by them to such an extent. One good example of that I can fathom is plastic surgery. This is one negativity of a person's physical appearance that is said to be so lacking it needs to be reconstructed. I pose the question, is depression caused by external responses of society, of comparing one's self to what is normal and to be expected? Probably, that is how all mental illness is defined as, symptoms that are not concurrent with the majority of the population. Who knows...

Saturday, May 2, 2009

The truth

Isolation is a cold word, but it is definitive. It possesses an undisputed meaning. I decided to label my blog as this because the feeling of isolation encompasses my life in every aspect. Reading this does sound terrible, indeed, but I have came to accept this. This is my life. Sometimes I wish it was not, but there is nothing I can do. The only viable choice is to live the life I know. 

I doubt many, if any one, will actually read this, or if it will ever be made public. If I was a happy, and a normal person, I would ask how do you live your life this way? Answering it, reveals a response that is challenging to stomach. People will come to terms with their lives regardless of their environmental, or emotions faced. It probably isn't right to bring up such a controversial topic, but many people have been subjected to much worse treatment and gone on to live their lives. The holocaust is a prime example of my logic. My life is, in no way, comparable to what those people faced, but they, like me, have accepted their circumstances. They have bowed to the notion that their lives will be undeniably unpleasant. Just like I have accepted the fact that I am depressed, and have been for a very long time. After a while, like any other illness, it begins to define you and the person you truly are. It forms an integral part of your personality. It is something you sleep with every night and wake to every morning. 

Depression is a very serious illness. It is one that will strip the life from you, along with all your desires, hopes and dreams; believe me, I know this. I also know there is much stigma towards it. It makes me nervous to actually be 'open' with my depression. I once told my brother that I was greatly depressed. He simply, and quite calmly, replied "You have nothing to be depressed about". After him ratting off a number of possessions that I own, the tone of his voice silently conveyed the expectation that I should be feeling better. My mood remained unchanged. It started a train of thought, though. Depression does not necessarily manifest symptoms that are obviously visible. I think this might be a reason why so many people downplay the illness. With no visible symptoms, there is nothing to be able to compare the pain to. With a person who has suffered third degree burns to 30% of their body, anyone can look at them and blatantly see they are in distress. If someone looks at a person who is depressed, they don't necessarily see the pain behind it. I guess were so similar on the outside. Its what makes it so easy to identify suffering while appreciating the physical aspect of disease. The mind is completely different. There are no physical characteristics. There is no way to completely judge the suffering it goes through.